


The Dress

by greywolfheir



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Could be seen as, Crowley wears a dress, Established Relationship, First Kiss, M/M, depending on how you squint, or - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-10 03:24:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21456097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greywolfheir/pseuds/greywolfheir
Summary: Crowley wears a fancy dress to a museum. Aziraphale has feelings about it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 89





	The Dress

**Author's Note:**

> If someone wants to make some art of this I would love you forever! This is based on a dream I had and writing it down helps but visualizing it would be killer.

Aziraphale stood at the bottom of the staircase that led into the museum and pulled out his watch. 

Crowley was late.

It wasn't like Crowley to be late--no, it decidedly _ was _ like Crowley to be late. Just not all the time. And certainly not...well maybe Aziraphale had just been hoping…

Before his thoughts got too derailed, Aziraphale heard a familiar voice calling his name. Smiling, Aziraphale turned.

And then he froze.

Crowley looked absolutely stunning. He was wearing a dress for the first time in a while. It sparkled emerald green and had a deeply plunging neckline and Aziraphale felt wholly inadequate even wearing a tuxedo.

"Sorry I'm late, angel, I--Are you alright?"

Aziraphale shook his head quickly. "Yes, yes, of course, why wouldn't I be?" 

"It's just… Nevermind. Shall we go in?" 

The special exhibit at the museum that night was a special tribute to Oscar Wilde with newly discovered journal entries...or something like that. Aziraphale had a hard time focusing at all, and every time he turned to look at Crowley he found himself taking a sip of his champagne. He wasn’t entirely sure how many glasses he’d gone through at this point. It was just...the dress sparkled in the light in a way that made Aziraphale _ want _ things in a way that no angel should want.

  
  


Later that evening, as they were leaving the museum, Crowley had to hold Aziraphale’s arm to prevent him from tripping over his own feet. 

“You’ve been getting drunk without me,” Crolwey mock-pouted. “Let’s get that sorted.”  
  


They entered the bookshop later and Crowley immediately dove into Aziraphale’s wine storage, popping open a bottle and drinking straight from it. 

“I’ll be glad to get out of this dress,” Crowley sighed after setting the wine bottle down. He lifted his hand to snap, ad Aziraphale had a moment of panic. 

“Wait!” he shouted, louder than intended.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, hand still in the air. “Yes, angel?”

“Er…” Aziraphale said, not knowing where to go from here. “It’s just, it’s such a lovely dress…”

Crowley paused as if waiting for a reply and when none came, he finally prompted, “And…?”

“It’d be a shame to get rid of it so soon,” Aziraphale finished weakly.

Crowley lowered his hand, a wicked grin splitting his face. “I did just spend an entire evening wearing it.”

“Yes, well, it wasn’t a very long evening was it?” Aziraphale surprised himself with the sudden reply. 

Crowley stepped closer the grin widening. “We could certainly make it longer.”

“I-I suppose we could,” Aziraphale said, though he was entirely too focused on how close they suddenly were. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said suddenly soft, “would you like me to continue wearing the dress?”

“I suppose,” Azirapahle said in a matching tone, “that I would, yes.”

Crowley leaned forward then, and captured Aziraphale’s lips in his own. Aziraphale responded in kind, feeling a warmth spread throughout his entire body. He supposed it could have been the champagne, though something told him it wasn’t. 

Aziraphale lifted his hands to Crowley’s shoulder to steady himself, and one of the straps on the dress fell loose. An entirely different type of warmth spread through Aziraphale then.

“I suppose,” he whispered when they parted, “it doesn’t have to stay on for very much longer...”

Later--much later--Aziraphale would insist it was the champagne that made him say that, but Crowley wouldn’t believe him. And did it really matter anyway?


End file.
